


Windows to the Soul

by SegaBarrett



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Penance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alvarez tries to make it up to Rivera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windows to the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Oz and make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: I am currently only finished watching through 3x08, so this is AU from 4 I suppose.

They’d had that meeting where Miguel hadn’t been able to give Rivera all that much. Sister Pete had told him to be prepared for him not wanting to come back, that they’d decided not to continue the program.

 _They,_ of course, was the word that stuck out to Miguel. Rivera seemed to want to stay, to get answers, but his wife didn’t.

Not that Miguel could even blame her. If someone had taken out his eyes, he didn’t think Maritza would want to talk calmly with them whether Miguel wanted to or not.

He waited a long time, back in solitary, staring at the walls because he wouldn’t tell the Warden who’d raped his daughter, and then when it seemed like forever had passed – hell, that ten or a hundred forevers had passed, Sister Pete told him Rivera was back.

And this time he was alone.

With his same sunglasses and his same slow walk, except this time he wasn’t being led by his wife but by Sister Pete or maybe, it seemed, by himself. He was using a cane, one of those big long white thin ones that people could use to hit things at that frenzied rat-tat-tat pace that Miguel could never really catch a grip on.

“Alvarez.” Rivera’s voice was quiet.

Miguel realized he didn’t really know what to call him in response, so he said nothing except for, “Hey.”

There was a long moment. Miguel stared at Rivera and he supposed Rivera stared at nothing at all. Maybe he pictured him, his form there.

“Would you be willing to leave us alone?” Rivera inquired. Sister Pete hesitated, and Miguel didn’t know why. What harm could he come to from a blind man, or was she worried that Miguel would hurt Rivera? Like he could do worse to him than he had already done. “We’ll be fine,” he insisted further, though Miguel wondered how he didn’t know that she hadn’t just left already. With another questioning glance and a few more half-protests, though, she did.

The moment took years. 

“You want to be forgiven,” Rivera started. 

“What can I do?” Miguel barely found the words. They were chalky on his tongue.

“There is one thing.” Rivera let the words hang out there, like the noose Miguel had used to try and end his life with. 

He didn’t need to ask what Rivera meant. If he had any questions, the nod he gave downward silenced them all.

Miguel couldn’t have ratted out El Cid. He couldn’t have found the balls to blind himself, either.

This thing he could do. 

He left his chair and moved to kneel by Rivera. His fingers were shaking. No one was looking in; the shades were pulled. Rivera’s shades were forever pulled. 

The zipper went down and Miguel was caught in every moment until he found Rivera, took him in hand and guided him to his mouth. He hadn’t done this thing, had never done this thing but had figured that in Oz he would, sooner or later.

This was a better sooner. He deserved this, to be humbled at Rivera’s feet. He hummed around him, sending out little vibrations like those tic-tic-tic sounds they had when blind people were allowed to cross the street.

He took him deep, gagged and pulled back. With a hand he guided Rivera’s own hand to rest on his shoulder. 

Then he got back to work. He hollowed out his cheeks, sucked hard and then experimentally softer. He pulled back again and lapped at the head but then took him deep again. He thought that felt right, when he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He needed to suffer to fix this, needed to suffer like when he’d tried to disfigure himself to save his son’s life.

Maybe this would be the one to fix it.

Rivera was so silent; that didn’t seem right. But when he came he hummed, low as a car motor, and Miguel swallowed, licked every drop though Rivera couldn’t see it.

Maybe he knew. Maybe he sensed that too.

He zipped him up, turned and started to walk towards the door, before turning back.

“Are we good now?”

The words were so inadequate. It sounded like friends making up after a fight. 

“We’ll see,” Rivera told him.

“No,” Miguel whispered, low enough so only he could hear. “I will.”


End file.
